


Suffocated

by mythomagicallydelicious



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, In one place I explicitly describe, Tears for Stan Pines, suffocation, this guy can't catch a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: Mabel returns from her failed party-planning early, and Stan overhears the conversation on the walkie-talkies instead.





	Suffocated

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this based on some awesome art by @masdanii on tumblr!!  
> Here's the link, you should check out the art: https://masdanii.tumblr.com/post/157173470157/some-things-were-said
> 
> Also inspired by many conversations I had about said art with tumblr user @sovvung .

Stan stumbled over something in the dying light of the shack’s living room. He caught his balance on the wall, stopping himself from face planting to the ground. Grumbling, he turned around to see what it was. A backpack.  _Jeez_ , thought Stan,  _Mabel must have left it down here_. Stan was worried about the girl—she’d just come home and flung her stuff down, apparently, and tore up to the attic without even a ‘hello’ thrown back. She came home much sooner than he expected. Stan had noticed little things that seemed to be inconsequential, but were slowly stealing Mabel’s happiness. Mainly- Dipper spending so much time without her and with Ford instead.

Stan sighed and leaned down to pick up the pack. He was sure Mabel would miss her things soon, and he wanted to at least try and make her smile today. As he bent down, he heard a rush of static and the edge of a conversation.

“ _Mabel will be_ fine _on her own. She has a magnetic personality—“_ a rush of static came over the line and then cleared up into Dipper’s voice, “ _We’ve never really been apart before_.” Another shift and Ford’s voice came over the line again “ _And isn’t it **suffocating**?” _ with another screech of static the walkie-talkie Stan found in the bag went silent. Obviously this conversation was not meant to be heard, the button was probably accidentally pushed down to communicate. Nevertheless, Stan crushed the walkie-talkie to pieces in his hand, his arm shaking with barely concealed rage. He set the bag down and flung the pieces from his hand. The plastic aggravated the cut he’d received a couple weeks ago from the portal on his hand, but this time he didn’t even wrap it.

Stan sat down unsteadily in his chair. His entire body was shaking with anger over what he heard.

 _How dare he say that about Mabel? How **dare**  he! If she hadn’t dropped her bag—no she can never hear that—Dipper’s a good kid, he wouldn’t leave his sister, right? What is he  **doing**  to this family? He had one job, stay away from the kids, and now, n-now he’s, ugh…_ Stan’s thoughts chased themselves in circles as his body gave way to tears. He made no noise, just sat in his chair, letting his thoughts run wild circles through his brain, working himself up over the words he’d heard exchanged more and more, but trying to ignore the last sentence as it kept building within him.

Stan struggled to draw in a breath in between his quiet sobs, and suddenly Ford’s words hit him harder than before.  _Isn’t it **suffocating**? I’m SUFFOCATING? Did—did he ever…Was I always just…Too dumb, slowed him down, held him back, s u f f o c a t e d my brother?_

Stan pushed down with his thumb on the new cut on his hand and hissed out an expletive. But the pain served his purpose and cleared his head. Looking around him, he swallowed the rest of his tears and stood up, straightening his Mr. Mystery suit. He grabbed the broom and swept up the broken walkie-talkie pieces, dumping it in the trash. Everything his right hand touched hurt, but he let himself feel that pain rather than keep thinking too hard about what he heard.

Finally, he wrapped it up, grabbed a pitt cola to hide the injury, and walked up to the attic to talk to Mabel. Stan listened to her sadness over growing up, her fears and her worries, and gave the best advice he could. He allowed his own vulnerability to shine through for a second, the old ache that his twin didn’t stick with him through thick and thin, before rubbing Mabel’s hair affectionately with a small smile. Mabel responded in kind, smiling up at Stan and told him thanks. When Stan left her room, she was smiling again, picking out pictures for the scrapbook and getting back to her normal, upbeat self.

And Stan was going to make sure that whatever had transpired after the static on that walkie-talkie,  _nothing_  would take that happiness away from his grandniece.

-

Finally as the sun was starting to go down, Dipper and Ford returned home. Stan saw Dipper covered in scratch marks and looking generally beat up. Stan swallowed another wave of anger and told him to go clean up and head straight to bed. Dipper dropped his bag and ran up the stairs, looking too excited about whatever they’d done that day to argue back at Stan.

Ford comes in behind him, not even sparing Stanley a glance, and heads to the kitchen. Stan hears him puttering around in there, probably making coffee. He stands and makes his way into the kitchen, coming to stand just behind his brother.

“Ford,” he starts, his gruff voice quiet. Ford doesn’t turn around, but a tensing of the shoulders means he knows his brother heard him.

Stan tries again, “Stanford,” and winces, his voice cracking. At that Ford turns around, his face hardening into a mask of annoyance, to ask what Stan wants with him.

Stan feels a tremor go through him and he shudders. For as much time as he’s had to think, he still doesn’t know what he wants to say. Luckily, Ford makes it easy for him.

“What do you want now, Stanley? I’ve had a long day and I don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re giving me right now.”

Stanley feels his spine go rigid with resolve, an angry light in his eyes. His voice is low and strong when he speaks this time. “Ford, have you ever been choked nearly to death? Have you ever been thrown into such a tiny space that you can feel the air go stale and you start to panic, thinking ‘this is it, this is the end’? Have you ever been  _suffocated_?” Another tremor goes through Stan and he lets it show, his arms shaking slightly. “Have you ever felt their hands close around your neck as you try to get away, only to be dragged back into them, to watch the look of glee in their eye as they slowly kill you? Or worse, the complete lack of caring as you’re slowly drifting into nothing, just another check mark on a list of things to take care of.” Stan takes a deep breath and raises his voice, “have you ever  _suffocated?_ ”

Stan never took his eyes off of his brother’s face. At first it was still that hard annoyance, then confusion, a flash of recognition, a wince of sympathetic pain, eyes wide and features going slack. When Stan repeated  _suffocated_  though, is when Stan saw a light click on in his big brain, and Ford’s expression turned defensive.

“Don’t be over dramatic Stanley. Where are these questions coming from?”

“ _No puedo respirar!_   _I_  know what it feels like to be  _suffocating_ , Stanford. All  _you_ know is a brother who has always had your back and stood by you! A brother willing to do anything for you, a brother willing to spend 40 years of his life making up for an accident! And you have the  _gall_ to call me  **suffocating?** ”

“Stan, that’s not what I—“

“No! How could you  _say_ ,” Stan’s voice cracked but he didn’t stop, plowing on, feeling his anger turn to sadness, “that about me? How could you j-just dismiss our entire childhood like that? Did you ever even like me—or was I just the dumb muscle in your shadow?” Stan’s voice was cracking and his gestures were less sporadic. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but still he waited for his brother’s words. If his brother could contradict him, he’d stay.

Stanford looked back, surprise and hurt written over his face. His jaw was slack, hanging open like a fish. But he didn’t say anything. Stanley swallowed hard and turned away. “I’ll be out of your space soon, then. Only one more week until this  _suffocating nuisance_  is away from you forever. Sorry I can’t make summer end faster.”

And with that he stalked out of the house, straight to his car, and drove away.

He didn’t see Stanford crouch down in the kitchen, one hand to his heart, the other to his mouth, stifling himself as he cried. He didn’t see Stanford stay that way for over an hour. He didn’t see Stanford rock himself to his feet and into the bathroom. He didn’t hear his brother retching into the toilet, sick at his own thoughts and actions. He didn’t hear the muffled gasps of pain as Stanford took care of his injuries. He didn’t see Stanford stop outside of his own room and lean his head against the old wood, guilt spread across the planes of his face. He didn’t hear Stanford walk woodenly down to the basement, snagging Dipper’s backpack as he went. He didn’t know his brother was finally sealing the problem they created in front of the machine that started it. He didn’t know everything he wanted from his brother was just subverted by the wrong set of twins fighting.

And at the end of the summer, after the twins had left (together—Stan hadn’t heard Ford had rescinded his offer to Dipper), he didn’t see Stanford offer him their childhood dreams. All he saw was the open road blurred by tears, barely choking out breaths between his sobs.

Stan almost laughed at how  _suffocated_  he felt.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever want to check out my tumblr, I post more writing there more often, and sometimes talk about other things I'm working on. That's where I first posted this piece. It's @mythomagically-delicious if you want to come say hi! :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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